perhaps it's my turn?

I see water dripping from my fingertips and it's a cascade
I see a picture of shimmering stones and suddenly
my toes are brushing the lake shore
I see a broken windmill and it's a sad measure of time
I see two smiles, but they are destinies out of sync

It's a bird, it's a plane, no, It's just a little girl with a big name
It's a mountain of thought with no translation
and a lake shore eternally frozen by a photograph.
I once believed that what I see exists but now I know
that my eyes often mirror the unreality

Unreality, you ask? Why, certainly! I see men flying in
an aluminum casket, I see a star but it's a machine
I see a message but there's no pen, I see a box
that controls a heart. This is the time of the greatest
wonders, but soon there'll be no space for the people...

No longer have I water on my fingertips. My nails move
freely along a board that speaks in clicks. It boggles the mind
to imagine that I can write without smudges, that a thought
can be frozen in space without so much as a picture.
These are the times of destinies out of sync.

If I were ever to sit beside the lake shore, in a picture
Would you come? Would you speak to me of letters and
of grasses and of waterfalls? Trapped in a foreign world, you are
A cold world that causes stress and makes you smoke.
You belong by the lake shore, with water on your finger tips.

But speak softly. If my strange little box finally understands my
hatred, if my protest for paper is recognized, there may be a war
A war of the words, written and typed. I have come to save you
from this new wave. Five thousand years of paper destroyed by
two decades of clicks. Yes, an unreality!

I see a parrot, but it's a picture. I see a color, but it doesn't live.
I wish I were by the lake shore, or in the aluminum casket
returning there, or in a book or song or verse.
Have a hello with no voice, across a box that shouldn't exist
These are the times of destinies out of sync.






This is my revolt towards computers. I was listening to Cymbaline at the time, which to me, conjures up images of times past.. the slow melody and the simple words pause time entirely... takes you away from the rush and stress of the current and the fears of the future...

__________________
I wonder which of my possible pasts is fluttering behind me...